Running
by katriel1987
Summary: The funny thing isn't so much that she doesn't remember how long she's been running. It's that she doesn't remember why.


**Disclaimer: "Stargate SG-1" and its characters are the property of MGM/UA, Double Secret Productions, Gekko Film Corp., Showtime/Viacom and USA Networks, Inc. This story is for entertainment purposes and the author (me) is not getting paid for it. No copyright infringement is intended. (Really.)**

**Author's Note: This story has a Jack/Janet pairing, which is one I've never tried before. I'm not sure whether I'm happy with how it turned out. Romance of any kind just is not my strong suit. PG-13 for violence and language.**

**

* * *

**

The Laundromat smells like soap and feels warm from all the dryers. When she looks out the window, she sees that it's raining, slowly but steadily.

She's been running for days now.

The funny thing isn't so much that she doesn't remember how many days. It's that she doesn't remember why she's even running. It's that she doesn't even remember who she is.

She doesn't remember her own name.

Her lips move silently, trying to frame sounds, but the words don't come. She runs through a list of names in her head. None of them feel right. None of them feel like her.

She looks at her reflection in the grimy window, as if seeing her own face will somehow spark her memory. The image, though indistinct, tells her that she is pretty. Her features are nice; hair is on the short side. Traces of makeup remain, but her skin is very pale. She doesn't know why.

After a while it stops raining and she zips up her dark green jacket and walks outside. Her breath hangs in the crisp air and she knows that once, long ago, she pestered her father for details on _why_ her breath made fog when it was cold. She just doesn't know her father's name or face.

She doesn't know why she's running. Something tells her she doesn't want to.

* * *

The café is small and dim and smoky and, for now, she's the only customer. Feeling thankful for that, she examines the $20 bill she found in her coat pocket and orders a coke and a cheeseburger with no mustard. She does remember that she can't stand mustard.

The waitress who takes her order smiles empathetically at this puffy-eyed, exhausted woman. "Hi, I'm Maddie." After receiving no reply, the waitress surmises, "It's a man, ain't it, honey?"

She tries not to remember, but for an instant there is the faintest image of brown eyes and hair splashed with silver at the temples. Then the wall goes back up.

"Yes," she says cautiously, because it seems like the right thing to say. "Yes, it's a man."

And in the back of her mind, a voice is screaming, 'Why didn't you tell him you loved him?'

She tells it to go away.

* * *

She stays in a motel that night. There's a moment of panic when she's asked her name, because she doesn't want to admit she doesn't know.

"Anne," she says, picking the first name that pops into her head. After a moment of consideration, she finds a last name that feels familiar, comforting somehow. "Jackson. Anne Jackson."

She takes a hot shower before going to bed, hoping it will wash away the fear seeping in through the cracks in the wall she's built around her memories. It doesn't.

Sometime in the middle of the night she awakens with a scream lodged in her throat and sweat-soaked sheets clinging to her bare skin. A memory has broken free, intruding upon her dreams, and now all she sees is him, screaming and screaming and thrashing and dying.

She claws free of the sheets and falls on the floor and sobs, her fingers clutching at the carpet.

She knows now why she's running.

Because he's dead, and she failed to save him.

* * *

Her face is even paler by morning, her skin almost transparent. She tries not to look in the mirror, because she doesn't want to see the dark circles under her eyes and the tangled hair she doesn't have the energy to comb. She doesn't look so pretty any more.

She should go back now, she thinks. There are others, and they're probably hurting too, and it was selfish of her to run out on them. The only problem is, she doesn't know where they are, where she is. Words and names and places hover on the tip of her tongue, but never quite reach the surface. She's a stranger in a world she's lived in her entire life.

There are a few fragile images in her mind: a man with blue eyes and glasses; a redheaded teenager with a bubbly laugh; a woman with a beautiful smile. She knows they're her friends, and that she trusts them. She just doesn't know how to find them.

She goes back to the café, because Maddie is a familiar face — the only familiar face she has right now. The waitress looks tired and overworked but still has the same open, friendly smile.

She's halfway through her breakfast when there is a screech of brakes outside, followed by a scream. Uncertain, she sits very still, until a moment later a man bursts in, wide-eyed and panting.

"Maddie," he shouts at the waitress, "call 911! There's been an accident!"

She gets to her feet, hears herself say "I'm a doctor." The instant the words leave her mouth, she knows they're true. She is a doctor. She _feels_ like a doctor.

The victim is a teenage girl who was struck by a car. She's crying and terrified and has a broken wrist, but the vehicle was moving slowly and there are no signs of more severe injuries.

After the ambulance leaves, she stands and stares for a long time. Finally she puts her hands in her pockets, because they're so very cold.

* * *

She goes back to the restaurant afterward and sits back down to finish her breakfast, cold now but still food, and she knows she has to eat. She's almost finished when the door opens and she looks up and sees him.

Everything stops.

It can't be. He's dead. She saw him die. If there's one thing she knows about her life, it is this: that she watched him die, and that it was the worst moment of her life.

But here he is, walking slowly toward her with his hands thrust into the pockets of his blue jeans. Same handsome face, same silvering hair. He moves with casual grace and when he reaches her table, he smiles. "Hi. Mind if I sit down?"

She stares.

It's him. It has to be him. No one in the world could imitate him so perfectly — his walk, his voice, the subtle inflection he puts on his words.

"Jack?" She finally says timidly, her voice very small. As soon as she saw his face, she knew his name.

He sits down across from her and leans forward a little. "You need to come back now, Doc. Everybody's been worried about you. Daniel's going crazy, and Carter — well, you know Carter. She's calling people all over the state and doing all kinds of computer searches. She finally tracked down the GPS in your car and figured out what town you were in."

"Jack?" She says again, because she can't make herself believe that he's alive, that this isn't some kind of cruel dream. She thinks that maybe she's finally snapped, that her desire to undo what could never be reversed has thrust her into some kind of fantasy world.

"It's me. It's definitely me." He reaches out his hand to her and speaks gently, the same way he spoke to the redheaded child years ago. She doesn't know why she remembers that, but she does. "It's time to go home, Janet."

So her name is Janet.

"I saw you die," she says, her voice trembling uncontrollably.

He leans closer, until she can feel his breath on her cheek and smell the faint musky scent of his cologne. His voice lowers so only she can hear it. "That's right, you did. But you know better than anybody that death isn't always permanent in our line of work." When she doesn't answer right away, he looks suddenly concerned. "Don't you?"

"Yes," she says quickly, "yes." But she doesn't think she really knows that, because if she did, why would she have run away when he died? Why wouldn't she have stayed to see if he would come back?

Another name crystallizes suddenly, matching the face of the redheaded teenager. "Cassandra?"

"Cassie's fine, Doc. Carter's taking care of her. She's worried about you, but she's fine. We all just want you to come home now."

Home. Home. The word sounds so wonderful, promising warmth and security and maybe even love. Maybe the wall she built around her memories was for nothing. Maybe the nightmares were leading her astray. He's here in front of her, he's alive, he's all right, and he's going to take her home now. It's almost too good to be true.

And maybe it is too good to be true, because there's something wrong with his eyes.

She doesn't know exactly what it is, because they're the right color and they look at her face when he talks to her, but there's something off. Something that doesn't quite fit her resurfacing memories of him.

He reaches out a hand to her, ready to lead her back to the world where she belongs. But she hesitates an instant before she takes it, because there's still something wrong with his eyes.

* * *

Bits and pieces come back to her while they're driving. Her name is Janet Fraiser, she's a doctor, and she works at the SGC. She has a daughter named Cassandra, and her daughter is an alien, and so is one of her best friends. And Jack was right — death isn't always permanent.

So why was she so certain his was?

Memories flood her mind so fast it's hard to keep up. She remembers missions and injuries and illnesses and foothold situations, alien races who were friendly and others who weren't so friendly. The first unfriendly alien race she remembers has glowing eyes. She casts a quick sideways glance at Jack, but his eyes don't glow.

He interrupts her thoughts to tell her that they're almost back to Colorado Springs. She says she needs a restroom, so he pulls over at a gas station and waits in the car.

She comes back out and when she approaches the car, he lifts his head and looks at her.

_"Don't worry, Doc. We'll get out of this." His voice was raspy but he was trying so hard to convince her he wasn't worried._

She staggers back slightly, overwhelmed by the memories.

_"Oh no. God no … " He sounded scared._

_ There was duct tape on her wrists and ankles, binding her to the chair. His brown eyes met hers, and she saw terror on his face as the spiky snake wound its way across his bare chest, headed for his neck._

_ "No!" She cried, fighting to get free, desperate to help him. The symbiote paused for an instant, and then it struck and chewed and wriggled through his warm flesh._

_And he screamed and screamed and thrashed and writhed in agony as it took control, and she couldn't do anything but watch._

"No!" She stumbles backward and turns to run, but he is out of the car now and he grasps her arms in an iron grip and won't let go. He pulls her with him and she can't get her breath enough to scream for help.

She knows now, now that it's too late, why his eyes looked wrong. Because he has Jack's voice and Jack's smile and Jack's walk, but the soul of Jack O'Neill is gone, and she doesn't think they'll ever get it back.

She was right from the beginning. She did watch him die.

* * *

_After a while, he stopped screaming, and his body grew still. She knew then that he had fought as long as he could, and that she would never see him again. When his eyes finally opened, they turned toward her and glowed._

_ He cut her loose and dragged her with him toward the control room. She knew his assignment now: he had been sent to infiltrate the SGC, take over the control room, and open the iris so a naquadah bomb could be sent through to eliminate the pesky Tau'ri once and for all._

_ She was his bargaining chip. He would use her to get in._

_ She couldn't allow that._

_ Saying a silent apology to Jack, she kicked him as hard as she could between the legs. The Goa'uld crumpled to the floor, howling in pain, and she ran for the hatch that led to the surface. Praying she could get out and bring back help. Praying he wouldn't follow her._

_ He did._

_ She made it out the hatch just ahead of him and ran desperately, stumbling, dodging brush and trees. She thought she was safe, and then the dart hit her leg._

_ Surprised that she didn't lose consciousness, she pulled out the dart and kept running, eventually losing him in the darkness. She heard his voice faintly, cursing in Goa'uld far behind her. He knew he needed a hostage if his mission was to succeed._

_ Well, he wasn't going to have one._

_ She was confused by the time she reached her car, but she still knew she needed to go somewhere important. After driving for a few minutes, she forgot where._

_A few minutes after that she forgot everything._

* * *

He pulls into a motel and she reaches for the door handle but he grabs her wrist so hard that she thinks he's going to break it.

"You are stronger than I thought," he says casually. "The drug should have given you amnesia for weeks. It has only been a few days, and already you are remembering."

"Whatever you're planning, it won't work," she says defiantly.

He smiles, and it makes her furious that it looks so much like Jack's smile. "Oh, I think it will," he says quietly.

"They know you're a Goa'uld, and you will never get close to that control room. There's too much at stake."

He holds up a bag full of small round objects. "Do you recognize these, Doctor Fraiser? They are called tear gas canisters. Very handy. Created by your own law enforcement, I understand."

She feels like someone has kicked her in the stomach. "Where did you get those? And how did you track my GPS?"

He smiles again. "My host knows some most interesting people. You should meet them sometime. I think you would be surprised, Doctor Fraiser."

He keeps his iron grip on her arm and drags her toward the motel room, and she's more angry than afraid.

"You'll never get close enough to use the tear gas," she snaps.

He shoves her into the room ahead of him, closes the door, and looks at her in a way that turns her blood to ice. "You are correct in one thing — they know which body I am using," he says. "They will have ascertained that from the security cameras." He begins to move toward her, and she backs away, bumping into the bed. "But what if I show up in a different host? Someone they know and respect, perhaps? There will be uncertainty, and it will give me the opportunity I need." He takes her wrists and forces her struggling form down on the bed.

"Do not worry, Doctor Fraiser. You will not miss out on the awesome scene of your planet's destruction. You will view it helplessly through your own eyes."

By now, all the anger is gone, and she's just afraid.

* * *

_ The Goa'uld came through the gate in SG-7's commanding officer, Major Rodriguez. On the way to the control room, it had the misfortune of meeting up with Major Carter, who immediately recognized its presence. The Goa'uld zatted the Major, but not before she had alerted SFs to the situation._

_ It used a Goa'uld stun grenade to escape, but by then its host had been shot three times. Knowing it needed another body, it ducked into the first office it came across, zatting both occupants. The office was Colonel O'Neill's, and the occupants were O'Neill and Dr. Fraiser._

_ Unable to risk having more personnel taken out of commission by the stun grenades, General Hammond chose to barricade all the most important areas of the facility — the control room, the gate room, the manual self-destruct room — and wait for the Goa'uld to make its first move._

_ Its first move was to take another host to replace the dying Major Rodriguez. It chose Colonel O'Neill._

_

* * *

_

She fights desperately, clawing at his face with her fingernails, but the Goa'uld is infinitely stronger. She tries to scream, but suddenly his lips are pressed hard against hers and she feels something slippery and disgusting slide into her mouth.

She bites down as hard as she can.

The symbiote's skin is leathery and the blood she draws is thick and putrid, but the snake is momentarily trapped by her teeth. She pulls her hands free and grasps the creature's tail, pulling with all her might. It's slippery and slides through her grasp, moving down her throat, making her gag. She tastes blood, her own, as its spiny body slashes her mouth and the back of her throat.

She digs in her fingernails and pulls.

Screeching angrily, gashing at her flesh, it loses ground. One last desperate jerk, and it comes free, leaving her mouth and tongue torn and ravaged. It squirms frantically, and she's surprised by its strength, but adrenaline makes her stronger.

She rips it in half, and then throws it on the floor and stomps and stomps and stomps until her shoes are covered in blue slime and blood runs down her chin onto her shirt. When there's nothing left to stomp, she spits blood and saliva, trying to erase the taste of it from her damaged mouth.

Jack is lying face down on the bed, catatonic. When she rolls him over his eyes are open and staring at nothing, and he won't respond. There's blood running from his mouth, getting all over the bedspread, and she finds herself wondering how they'll explain all the blood, and the blue goo in the carpet, and the pieces of bristly snake on the floor.

"Jack?" She slurs painfully. "Jack, please … "

Slowly his eyes — oh thank you God, they're _his_ eyes again — move to rest on her face. She starts to laugh and cry at the same time, knowing she's hysterical but unable to stop. "Oh, thank God," she says. "Thank God."

"Janet?" His whisper is rough and raspy and he winces. She imagines his throat must feel as bad as her mouth does.

"I'm here. I'm right here. It's okay; I killed the snake. I killed it." She points at what once was the parasitic creature, now just a pathetic puddle of slime.

"Good girl," he whispers. "Always thought … you'd make … a warrior. Too bad you didn't … have any … needles to stick it with."

She lies down beside him and they hold each other for a while, still trying to comprehend the fact that they're here and they're alive and they're still themselves and the snake is gone.

"Janet," Jack whispers suddenly, "you do realize you kicked me in the nuts?"

She chuffs a weak excuse for a laugh. "I'm sorry," she replies. "I had to." It's getting harder to talk because her tongue is swelling, and she knows she should get medical attention, but she doesn't want to move.

Because she remembers when she watched his soul die, and what it felt like to think she'd never see him again, and it feels so good just to be wrapped in his arms.

After a minute, she gets up the nerve to slur, "I love you."

There's an endless moment where she's afraid he's going to get up and walk away. And then he whispers back, "I love you too."

Finally they sit up and spit some more blood on the carpet and survey the damage to the motel room. "Wonder how we'll explain the blue stuff in the carpet?" Jack whispers, clutching his terribly sore throat.

She considers this for a moment. "We could say it's jell-o," she replies finally.

He laughs, then grimaces. It's good to hear him laugh.

* * *

There's confusion, but that's to be expected. When they first arrive at the SGC, guns point and everyone stares wide-eyed at Jack. She shouts as loudly as she can — which isn't very loudly — "Go get Major Carter or Teal'c! They can tell you the snake isn't in either of us!"

Teal'c comes out and confirms that DoctorFraiser is indeed DoctorFraiser and O'Neill is indeed O'Neill, and they're taken in for medical treatment and asked to repeat their story a million times.

She's just endured ten stitches in her mouth, and hugs from Daniel and Sam, when he walks in. His face is still a little pale but he smiles when he sees her, and there's nothing wrong with his eyes at all. She really loves his eyes.

"Hey," she lisps, feeling a little shy all the sudden, not knowing what to say. Maybe she should have taken things slower, waited a while before making such a startling announcement. But she remembered what it was like to wonder why she never told him, and she can't blame herself for taking the first available opportunity.

"Hey." He sits down beside her and starts playing with a tongue depressor he pilfered from somewhere. He seems a little nervous too, because he doesn't look straight at her and doesn't say anything for a while. Finally he asks, "So, where do we go from here?"

She smiles and looks up into his eyes. "Well … we could always go get some blue jell-o. Just to celebrate."

FIN


End file.
